The Distant Blade

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2026-08-18 18:24:23 -

The Distant Blade

The air in the cell did not smell of rot, as one might expect, but of wet stone and the metallic tang of old iron. It was a dry, dusty scent, the kind that settled in the lungs and refused to leave. Thomas sat on the straw pile, his back against the cold wall, counting the cracks in the ceiling. He had counted them so many times that they were no longer random fissures but a map of his own...

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